The butler held out the silver salver with the letter atop and Ewan snatched it up. “Thank you, Humbolt.”
Humbolt bowed and took his leave.
Ewan ripped open the letter, ignoring the curious stares of both his friends.
“Well, what does it say?” Bell finally asked after Ewan had had ample time to read it.
Ewan tossed the letter onto the desktop and leaned back in his chair again. “It’s my invitation to the annual Christmastide ball at Blackstone Hall. I receive one every year. It’s nothing special.”
“It may not be special, but it’s certainly convenient,” Phillip replied with a wide grin.
“I never go to the Christmastide ball at Blackstone Hall. I’m usually in London,” Ewan replied.
Setting his glass on the end of the desk, Bell stood. “First, I fully intend to investigate who shared the rumor of Lady Thea’s stay here with theTimes.” The marquess walked around the desk, and slapped Ewan on the back. “Second, I’d say you should change your plans this year, old man.” He picked up the invitation and handed it back to Ewan. “You’re going to that ball.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Earl of Blackstone’s Estate, December 23, 1812
The ballroom at Blackstone Hall was ablaze with the light of dozens of candles set in enormous chandeliers that hung above the large room. The entire ballroom was strung with evergreen and pine boughs and it smelled like a wintry forest inside. The ballroom was filled with all of Thea’s neighbors, gentry and aristocrats from all across Devon. The ladies were wearing their finest winter ballgowns, the gentlemen were wearing their best evening attire, and everyone appeared to be having a splendid time.
Everyone except Thea.
Despite the gossip, Father had insisted on hosting their annual party for their friends and neighbors. The talk had died down in the weeks since Thea had left Clayton’s house. Thea leg had healed, and she was walking again (thankfullysanslimp).
Tonight, she was dressed in a gown of white with a large green velvet bow around her waist and a white fur shrug around her shoulders. Her hair was piled atop her head and Maggie had stuck in a whimsical bit of mistletoe. Thea was smiling and nodding and pretending to be happy, but inside she was empty.
She had been empty for weeks now. She’d told herself it was because of her ruined reputation, but given the fact that they’d received not so much as one regret to the ball on the basis of the so-called scandal, it seemed their little family had weathered the storm even more successfully than Anthony had predicted.
TheTimeshad never again mentioned a thing about her, and Lord Clayton hadn’t been mentioned either. The gossip may have died down, but that didn’t keep the partygoers from discussing the matter. Thea had heard the odd whisper here and there throughout the night. Whispers that always seemed to die down when she walked past.
Thea had just taken a break from standing near the double doors that led into the ballroom where she’d been greeting the guests as they entered. Father had taken over the task for the time being. They were still behaving like no more than polite strangers to one another, but at least they weren’t arguing.
Thea had wandered to the refreshment table to fetch a glass of lemonade. She kept her most hostesslike smile pinned to her face, but the stares and raised brows that greeted her told her that she remained the object of gossip. To feel less conspicuous, she took her glass to stand beside a potted palm near the wall. She would have climbed behind the thing and disappeared if it were large enough. Moments later, to her immense relief, Anthony joined her.
“You look beautiful this evening, Sister,” he said, bowing to her.
Thea returned her brother’s wide smile and graced him with a curtsy. “And you look as handsome as usual,” she replied in kind.
Anthony turned to stare at the crowd with her. Their backs to the wall. “Seems we have a fine turnout.”
Thea nodded slowly. “Yes, but everyone is whispering behind their hands.”
Anthony arched a brow. “Everyone? Are you quite certain? It doesn’t look like Lord Mayfeather is whispering.”
Thea had to laugh when she looked at the curmudgeonly Lord Mayfeather. The man must have been nearing ninety years old and he was blind as a bat. “He can’t see me well enough to whisper,” Thea replied. “But I assure you, plenty of the other guests are whispering.”
“Let them whisper,” Anthony replied. “Would you like me to spike your lemonade with something a bit more potent? Then you won’t care if they’re whispering.”
“Please do,” Thea replied, handing him her glass.
Anthony surreptitiously turned his back on the ballroom, retrieved a flask from one of the inner pockets of his evening coat, and poured some of its contents into her lemonade glass. “There you are, dear sister. Merry Christmastide.”
“Thank you, Anthony. You are a kind brother,” she replied with a laugh, lifting her glass and taking a sip. She winced at the bitter contents, but continued to gamely sip. “Perhaps this will make my future conversation with Lady Hepplewhite less awful.” Lady Hepplewhite was the largest gossip in Devon, and everyone knew it. No doubt she was the one fueling the whispers.
“Lady Hepplewhite is here?” Anthony glanced around the room sharply. “Where?”
“She’s standing near the musicians’ dais,” Thea replied, refusing to look herself. “No doubt instructing them as to how to play their instruments.”
